


soliloquy: rain

by faeriewuji



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Dogs, Growing Up, Moving, Rain, Teen Angst, also ate pancakes while editing this, idk this is legit off the top of my head, it was raining and strawberries and cigarettes was playing i had to, okay bye have fun reading about my life, stream back door, thanks to broracha for listening to me while i talked about rain in 734 words on a sunday morning, this is all from real life btw i have a sad life, tldr; i grew up and i love rain, tragic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26559046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriewuji/pseuds/faeriewuji
Summary: i talk about why i love/hate rain in 1. something thousand words.also includes: dog
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	soliloquy: rain

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn't gonna actually publish this since you know...these were just random i-just-woke-up-it's-raining-and-it's-a-sunday-morning thoughts but then i had an art essay to write so i edited my thoughts and posted this instead because my goal in life is to constantly rebel at the wrong time. ^__^

Ever since I was a kid I used to be scared of the rain. Rolling thunder and then lightning, tearing through the sky, I honestly sort of hated it. It would patter against our big living room doors and the wind would howl against the glass while my father would tell me stories about evil storm spirits that came after little kids to scare me. I would lay a palm against the shaking doors and watch as condensation settled onto the glass, breath fogging it up in the cold. I could never say the word ‘thunder’ right in my mother tongue, my mom still pokes fun at me for it sometimes. Sometimes the lights would go out when it rained. My family and I would spend hours sharing stories in candlelight. I was terrible at making up stories, my parents thought it was hilarious how terrible I was at it. I'd go on and on, with a story that had no moral and no actual end. "And then this happened.. and then this happened...", I just never knew how to end them, I didn't understand what the perfect ending looked like. My mother still says she misses when I was that young and talkative. Those were days that I probably will forget someday, nights I spent nestled in my mother’s chest when a storm raged outside. Those are days that I’m glad I still remember, those were days of the past when I didn't know better and I didn’t have to think about the times in the future when I’d have to venture out into those storms. 

I did eventually begin to step into the rain as I grew up. I hated it when I went out after it rained. Everything would be flooded, everything would be muddy, even my pink crocs couldn't save me. But now I know that that’s how it’s supposed to be. Everything doesn’t immediately go back to normal after a storm, you have to wait for the sun to come out again, you have to dry your tears before you can even start to move on. It’s easy to pretend that everything’s over after it’s all come crashing down, but getting back up is even harder than enduring the storm. I knew if I got through one storm, the next one would be harsher. I had to trust myself to find a way. 

I moved houses for the first time at age 7, and I thought the rain wasn't so bad. I made a new friend, a little Cocker Spaniel, at my new house. He was named Chikoo [a/n: it’s a wordplay on the fruit called chikoo and the word “chikoo” which means  _small_ in Kannada (South Indian language)]. He lived downstairs, but he would often follow us upstairs to our place after school. He would be ours to keep two years later but that's another story. Sometimes he’d take walks straight into the rain, he’d go out into the streets for the fun of it. He'd come home with muddy paws and a soaking wet coat and then he’d bound up our stairs. My parents would yell at him, but all he’d do after was sit by the bottom of the stairs and wag his tail in innocence. Often if it rained heavily, or it hailed, he would sit by our balcony and watch the rain. I was much younger then and I had so much time on my hands so I would sit next to him in silence and watch it too. I spent a lot of time with him, I felt like I’d finally made a friend. He understood my emotions better than I did and he’d cheer me up when no one else saw through my blank smiles. I think about him a lot and all I can do is miss him in silence.

Some days I’d walk to school in the rain, some days I’d get wet in it on the way back home. The rain in India is always so sticky and dirty and I hated it so much but every waking moment I spent in the rain, I felt like it gave me so much. More time to spend with my family inside, more time to eat hot food, more time with my new best friend, more time with my thoughts, more time to grow bonds. Every time there was a storm, the lights would go out and even though I’m terrified of the dark, the sound of the rain would help me push through. I felt myself grow every monsoon season. Sometimes I would go out to the rain, reach out the window with my arms laying in surrender to the sky. I would catch drops in the sockets of my eye and I’d think that I sort of felt alive. 

I always had such a hard time making friends and staying friends with people. I often didn’t feel like I was enough, even then… as a 9-year-old, I never once felt like I belonged anywhere. I still feel the same but I think that’s okay. The rain follows me where I go, it has a mind of its own, it’s wild and untamed. I thought that I’d like to be like the rain. 

I moved a second time in 7th grade I began to thoroughly fall in love with words and music and everything philosophically stupid. I grew up surrounded by music but I think this was when it became my existence. I lived through cheesy boyband singles, through my father’s old rock CDs, through my mother’s affinity for classical and Bollywood music, through my brother’s growing love for the weirdest type of funk/ EDM/ indie rock music. I swallowed up music and lyrics and hidden meanings like a cloud swallows up humidity on a sunny day, I had an endless thirst for new music. Outside my room was the adjoined balcony. I often spent my time watching the rain pour outside from my room, tears against the solid clay of the balcony floor. I still hated that the rain stuck to me like my regrets but I fell in love with the scent of rain, I started to feel like I had some purpose. I began to write that year, my first poem being about rain. My mom said she was proud of me, she sent my poem to some of my relatives who encouraged me to keep writing. I grew as a child and as a writer with the rain now in hindsight, it was always there watching over me. It rained like before, drowning me with growing pains now and then. I learnt to use music to cope, to learn and to love.

And then I moved to Australia, where it rained with the same intensity that I loved. It rained hard and strong, it pushed against my umbrella, turned it upside down, broke it in half [a/n: true story] and then it rained slow and sweet, it rained like I was falling in love, it rained like it hurt. Last week I was walking in the rain to music class and I started to cry in the rain [a/n: also a true story, yes I do be in a kdrama] I cried in the middle of the street as the rain fell against the back of my jacket, tears and rain streaming down my face. The rain grew in intensity like it understood me, loud and thundering like my heart against my chest, soft and slow like my gloomy feelings fluttering in my chest, I knew that the rain understood me. I had grown again, maybe an awful lot. I understood why the rain had to be sticky sometimes, I understood why it fell against our windows with a shattering force sometimes, I understood why it sang a silent lullaby on sleepless nights. The rain falls when it wants, it doesn't wait for anyone. No one’s going to wait for you, no one’s going to sit around and wait for you to finish your story. You don't have to be waiting for anyone, you have your own story to write, your own story to cry for, your own storms to conquer. You will be held and you will be loved, when the right person finds you. There’s more to your story after you’ve picked yourself back up, more pages to turn, more people to meet, more tears to cry. It’s okay to love with the intensity of a raging summer storm because maybe that’s exactly who I am. I love hard and strong, I love slow and sweet, I love like I’m falling, I love like it hurts, I love like I’m alive.

**Author's Note:**

> [SHES IN THE RAIN *strums violently*]  
> i AM writing my essay rn though so pls don't scream at me
> 
> find me: @faerievmk on twt if u want to talk about anything at all i am lonely 
> 
> feel free to leave your own thoughts in the comments!! i would love to read your opinions...on a particular weather phenomenon because,,, like i said im lonely 
> 
> thanks for reading :]


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